9 - Charming

Rowan

Time drifts stubbornly along. Outside the small window at the end of the cramped room, unfamiliar trees sway, caught at the mercy of playful breezes that send flurries of leaves up into miniature tornadoes.

Everything's different. The scent on the air, the wolves darting through the bushes outside, the distant clattering from the kitchen, the muffled voices, the infuriating and incessant ticking of an old-fashioned clock perched on the ornate dresser on the opposite wall, the bed squeaking beneath me as I shift my weight a little. It's all new, and strange, and different. Even though we've unpacked our clothes into the dresser, it doesn't feel right just yet.

I've never left home, before. Crescent Valley has been my stomping ground since I took my first steps. I grew up learning those trails, those streets, those people. The furthest I've gone is into the heart of Duskland's stolen land— which, technically, was mine — to discuss a fragile truce. But here? I'm a day's drive away, at least, from the only home I've ever known. It's as though I've taken up the anchor and let myself drift a little too far into dangerous, uncharted, stormy waters.

A pleasant, comforting scent — all woods after dark and rain-soaked heaven — encompasses me like an embrace. The anchor is gone, but River is a blazing light breaching the storm clouds. A lighthouse guiding me home. He is a tether to peace, to sanity, and one I never intend to lose.

We're both quiet, savouring this shade of solitude we've found ourselves in. Sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders pressed together. The clock is ticking its infuriating way towards six, chipping away at my patience.

I don't want to move. I want time to lose its footing, to falter in its incessant pace for a little while.

We're in the heart of an unfamiliar pack with hunters breathing down their necks— hunters who have killed their alpha's daughter and their beta.

Here, in this strange bedroom miles from home, it is just River and me and peace. Out there is a world where people are waiting with silver knives to tear us apart— and once we deal with them, we have the true threat to face. Hunters with silver in their veins who think River is dead; hunters who will do all they can to make sure he stays that way.

I can only hope that, by answering Darius' call for aid, he will lend us what support he can to take down the rest of the Ferreus hunters. We'll need every extra hand we can get.

"That clock needs to go," River mutters, glowering at the offending object with the exact level of simmering hatred I've seen on his face when Alessandro, Duskland's alpha, ordered a knife to his throat over a month ago. His sharp silver eyes flicker with a deeper fury, his Haze stirring a little from a long slumber, but the embers cool even as I study him.

So I'm not the only one feeling wary, and I'm not the only one trying hard to keep that wariness at bay.

After growing up beneath the weight of his Ferreus legacy, River's comfort zone is suspicion and knives in easy reach and walls built higher than anyone can hope to climb. I'm grateful beyond words that he tore those bricks down one by one to let me in.

"What do you need me to do, tonight?" I ask him. Whatever support he needs from me, I intend to give it.

He catches my gaze and frowns a little, dark brows pinching above glittering eyes. I wonder what he's thinking. With a deep breath, he says, "I'm not good at this— the whole... making allies thing. I don't want to mess up and lose our chance of numbers."

A little smile tugs at my lips; his eyes flicker down for a heartbeat and warm bliss sighs through my veins at his close attention. "You and I made an alliance, and it's held up pretty well, hasn't it?"

He scowls lightly. "That's different. You're different."

"How so?" I ask, a taunting edge to my tone.

He catches it, and a challenge glimmers like diamonds in his eyes. "Because you're a strange alpha who makes alliances with hunters, for one. And because you did all the work."

"Hardly," I say with a laugh. "If you didn't want that alliance at least a little bit, you wouldn't have stayed."

"I stayed because you confused me with your annoying charm."

"So you think I'm charming?" I taunt, wiggling my brows.

His scowl fractures and humour seeps through the cracks like a rising, beautiful dawn. "No, I think you're annoying."

I gape at him with a melodramatic air, a hand on my heart. "Beau's a bad influence on you."

"I mean it, though," he insists. "I'm not good at the whole wolf parley thing. I'm good at hunting, not talking."

"So what you're saying is, you handle the planning and I'll handle the charming."

"What I'm saying is, don't let me mess it up," he tells me, his humour sputtering out into embers. "We need numbers, Rowan."

"Hey," I murmur, the cracks in his expression sobering me at once. I reach up to swipe my thumb across his jaw and he tilts his head a little towards the gesture, his eyes riveted to mine with blazing intensity. "You're not going to mess anything up. Don't put pressure on yourself. Focus on these hunters first— then we'll sort out the rest with or without them. You have me, and Lach, Teo, and Kay. No matter what else happens, you have us."

He blows out a heavy breath and nods, but before he can speak, there's a tentative knock on the door.

Our gazes, as one, dart towards the clock. Six. Damn it.

I sigh and rise to answer the door. Time to face the music.

– ➶ –

With Lachlan, Teo and Kay, we arrive en masse in the kitchen and find Darius and Imogen bustling back and forth. Whatever they're cooking smells heavenly and my stomach gives a little twinge of hope.

"Ah, there you are," Imogen says, offering us a warm smile when she sees us.

"Do you need any help?" I ask, scanning the room for potential jobs. Darius is dishing up and Milo is already setting the table in the adjoining dining room, leaving precious few tasks left over.

Imogen waves me off. "No, thank you, dear. We'll manage."

Obediently, and with a seemingly shared desire to get out of the way, we all make our way to the table. While we're waiting, we discuss idle things, trying fervently to forge the fog of tension around us into something vaguely resembling the comfort of the pack house in Crescent Valley. If Beau were here, he'd lift the mood in moments with that buoyant charm of his, but it has been a long journey, our welcome was tense, and grief is choking our hosts. It isn't long before the others join us, and our conversation fizzles out.

Dinner in Darius' home is, to put it plainly, a little tense.

A fog of grief hangs over the alpha, luna, and gamma, and their efforts to make us feel comfortable and welcome only result in the opposite. We are — save for Matteo — utter strangers imposing on their fractured peace, after all.

The sooner we deal with these hunters, the better.

Between the clink of forks on plates, Darius' gaze lifts to study us. "So," he begins, his focus flickering between me and River. Curiosity is a spark behind his dark eyes; a struck match in shadows. "How did you two meet? Not many cross Ferreus hunters and live to tell about it. Did he try to kill you, or something?"

"No, he didn't try to kill me," I dismiss. Well, at least not right away. When he first fell into a Haze, he almost managed it, but mercifully he dragged himself back before his knife could get a little too acquainted with my neck. It had been a close call, though, and neither of us like to dwell on it. It is merely a reminder of what the Ferreus hunters did to him— forcing something harrowing onto his shoulders, ripping the rug of control from beneath his feet.

"Our enemy was the same, so we decided to join forces," River explains, catching my gaze. When it comes to telling these unfamiliar werewolves the intricacies of our bond, I cede to him. Whatever distance he feels comfortable with is the exact distance we'll go, and not a step further.

"And you were... alone?" Darius asks my fated. "Your family— I mean, the other Ferreus hunters weren't with you? Did they kick you out, or something?"

River's eyes narrow a fraction with clear distaste at the question, as do mine. Darius already knows the topic of the Ferreus hunters is a delicate one— the ice beneath his feet is already cracking and he's decided to test his luck once more.

That's twice now he's made River uncomfortable. I bristle but keep quiet, knowing he can handle himself.

Kay ducks their head, glancing up through the cover of their lashes and dark hair to watch the tension unfold. At their side, Matteo shoots a disapproving glance in Darius' direction. Lachlan clears his throat and adjusts himself in his seat. Taunting someone like River — intentionally or not — is not the smartest move.

"How many attacks has there been?" River queries instead, any hope of going about the interrogation in a tactful way torn to shreds. He throws the question like a shuriken, leaning forwards to pin Darius with a piercing stare, eyes glinting like diamonds.

As always, his aim lands true.

Darius leans back in his seat, crossing his arms. "Straight to business, then? There's been four attacks, so far. Always at night, always in force. They target our borders. There's no other packs near this place, so our 'lines in the sand', so to speak, don't require much protecting. Or, they didn't. The first attack nearly wiped out the patrol on our western borders, so we strengthened our defence. Only, the hunters anticipated this. They came in force on two fronts, trying to catch us off-guard. We've barely held them back. Our numbers have been torn in half— we had over fifty members, now there's just under thirty. The last attack, they got further than before, and that's when..." He clears his throat and drops his gaze to the table. "That's when we lost our Grace, and Klaus died trying to stop them."

In an abrupt move that startles us all, Milo shoves his chair back, rises, and stalks from the room, posture wound tight with tension.

Matteo is halfway out of his seat when Darius waves him off. "Leave him. Their deaths have hit him hard. Security is his job, you see," he tells the rest of us as Teo grudgingly settles. "I expect he blames himself for what's happened. What else do you want to know, hunter?"

Imogen keeps her head down, focus fixated upon her empty plate. Guilt spears my chest at the thought of her being present for this. She's lost her daughter, her pack has been torn apart, and yet she has been nothing but kind and welcoming to us. Darius deserves River's sharp interrogation, but Imogen does not.

River, who has been frowning at the doorway where Milo disappeared, pulls his focus back to the table with some difficulty. "I want to see a map of your land," he says, a dangerous edge to his tone as he dares the alpha to argue. "And my name is River, wolf."

Darius' gaze lands on me and a smile tugs at his lips, but there's nothing friendly about it. "He's a sharp one, isn't he? How ever did you tame him?"

For a beat, a choking silence descends. River stills at my side, as though Darius has reached across the table and struck him. Vaguely, I'm aware of Lachlan, Matteo and Kay bristling with anger, but my attention has collapsed to a pin hole, and I only have eyes for River and the man who has offended him. The ice has well and truly broken.

The glare I send the alpha is scathing with golden fury. "This may be your territory, Darius, but if you speak about my fated in that way again, it won't just be these hunters trying to kill you. If you cannot show him the respect he deserves, we are done here." I start to rise and, in symphony, so do the others.

"No," Imogen rushes out, her head snapping upwards to regard us all. Her eyes are overly wide with concern and there's a desperate, raw edge to her voice as she says, "Please, don't leave. We need your help." And then, fast as a viper, she cuts a glare at her fated. "If you could refrain from antagonising the only people who can help us, that would be wonderful, dear."

Her tone is sharp as a blade and, obediently, Darius drops his gaze. His shoulders slump a little and he addresses the table when he says, "Forgive me. It has been a long and tiring few days. I... I have never welcomed an alpha pair into my home, let alone ones who are trying to help us. Imogen is right. We need your help, and I apologise for offending you. It will not happen again."

We have all faltered in our attempts to rise, and I feel the heat of Teo, Kay and Lach's gazes as they await my cue. Whatever my choice is, they will follow. By offending River, Darius has offended us all, and even Matteo does not try and persuade me to stay.

"River," I say, deliberately turning my focus away from the alpha. He does not have control over us. "The choice is yours."

He meets my gaze, his silver eyes swirling with echoes of fury. Whatever he sees in my own eyes has the last tendrils of that anger dissipating like smoke through his grasp.

With a sharp sigh, he levels his attention on Darius and Imogen, who both watch us tentatively. "We'll help you with the hunters, so long as you can keep your ego in check. This may be your land, but I am the one in control when it comes to dealing with hunters. If you want to survive this, you'll do as I say. Do I make myself clear?"

Imogen nods at once, relief a sun breaking through dark clouds of torment. I can see the battle raging behind Darius' eyes as his desire for help wars with his desire to be the one in control. At last, his sense prevails, and he gives a nod of acknowledgement and submission.

Satisfied with their response, River returns to his seat and the rest of us follow his lead.

For a moment, we're all quiet, staring across the no man's land of the dining table, strewn with remnants of a forgotten meal. I'm fairly certain that, if River took the knife from his ankle, he'd be able to slice through the tension hanging between us.

At last, Lachlan breaks the quiet with a tentative cough. "So, uh..." he begins, forcing a brittle, cracking smile. "Nice weather we're having, huh?"